


it's a marshmallow world

by heart_nouveau



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Holidays, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3095165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heart_nouveau/pseuds/heart_nouveau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unrelated Christmas one-shots as prompted on Tumblr. A little late, I know.</p><p><b>Sansa/Margaery</b>: <i>"cheesy Christmas pickup lines at a pub"</i> and <i>"drinking hot cocoa by the fire"</i><br/><b>Cersei/Margaery</b>: <i>"Tyrells v. Lannisters snowball fight"</i> and <i>"Christmas morning"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa/Margaery: Cheesy Christmas Pickup Lines at a Pub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: "'we’re both lonely at a pub so let’s see how many christmas pick up lines we can come up with' for Sansa and Margaery :)"

 

Sansa didn’t usually hang out in bars alone, but it wasn’t her fault that massive snowstorms had blocked the roads home to Winterfell. After her father’s accident and resulting medical bills earlier that year Sansa’s family couldn’t exactly afford to fly her home—which meant she was stuck in King’s Landing, spending Christmas solo for the first time in her life. Sansa had avoided bars and parties ever since a messy breakup with her evil ex-boyfriend (who wasn’t just regular ex-level evil, but actually  _evil_ ), but she knew on authority (ie, Instagram via Myranda) that Joffrey was out of town. Meanwhile, Sansa’s friends wouldn’t be back in the city for a week, and she had gotten so lonely she could hardly stand it.

So here she was, perched on a barstool in a dusty bar in the back alleys of King’s Landing. She’d passed this place countless times on her walk from the Metro station to work, and finally decided to stop in. It was a lonely scene – only the mute bartender tending the bar, bobbing his head in time to the Pandora station softly playing “It’s a Marshmallow World.” Sansa stared at the strings of tinsel and silver snowflakes decorating the bar and felt sorry for herself for the hundredth time that day. At home in Winterfell, her family would be playing board games by now, or singing Christmas carols, or eating her mom’s signature hot dish. 

“Is this seat taken?”

Sansa glanced up from her drink with slower-than-usual surprise to see a woman her own age standing there. With her long, curled brunette hair and glossy red lips, the stranger looked like a cheerful holiday version of Blair Waldorf. She was also looking at Sansa in a way that made Sansa feel like she was under a spotlight. It took a moment for Sansa to remember how to make words. “Um, no it isn’t,” she said at last.

“Mind if I join you?” Christmas Blair wasn’t exactly smiling, but it looked like she was about to. Her eyes flickered from Sansa’s face, down slightly lower, and then back again.

“Yeah, okay,” Sansa said weakly, and the stranger slid onto the barstool beside her, glancing at the handwritten specials hung over the bar mirror.

“Spiked eggnog,” the other woman told the bartender, then turned her attention back to Sansa. She was smiling fully now. “So. What brings a nice girl like you to a naughty place like this?”

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m a good girl?”

“Just a guess,” the other woman said lightly. “I’m Margaery, by the way, and you are…?”

“Sansa,” Sansa said, and then she froze. “Margaery… Are you—” She paused, all the alcohol she’d had over the past hour and a half suddenly rushing to her head. “Wait, I—Margaery  _Tyrell_?”

“The one and only.” Margaery paused, inspecting her with candor that didn’t seem very surprised. “And you’re Sansa Stark.”

Sansa lowered her head to the cradle of her elbows for a moment, miserably, not answering. It wasn’t polite, but she’d had a drink or two more than she should have, who was counting? And of all the people to run into, she’d just  _had_  to meet…

Above her, she heard Margaery give an uneasy laugh. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“You went out with Joffrey,” Sansa said, lifting her head and resting one cheek on the cool wood of the counter. She could see two patrons by the door giving her a curious look but  _whatever_ , as if she cared what she looked like right now. “Two weeks ago.” Myranda had texted her seven times, then sent Facebook screenshots to prove it. Myranda was a great friend, but sometimes she just didn’t understand boundaries.

Margaery pressed her lips together sympathetically; Sansa thought they looked as glossy red as candy apples. “We went on one date,” she said after a moment, leaning on one elbow to meet Sansa’s eyes. “It was nothing, and if you want to know the truth, it was a setup. A family thing.”

The pounding in Sansa’s head ceased slightly. “So… you’re not going out with him again?”

“No, because he’s an asshole. Just like everyone said.” Margaery’s eyes dropped to the bar for a moment, and then she looked at Sansa again. “Everyone also said he was a complete asshole to you. And you deserved much better, and they didn’t know why you put up with him.”

“Is that what they say about me,” Sansa said, frowning.

Margaery wrinkled her little nose, hesitated, and then put one hand on Sansa’s elbow. Sansa noticed, somewhat blurrily, that her nails were perfectly French manicured in cream and gold. They looked like the detailed luxury interior of a sports car.  _I’d ride that_.  _Wait… what?_   “You look a little woozy, sweetie… How about we move to some chairs that aren’t so tall?”

Sansa let Margaery help her off the stool and sort of drunk-hobble over to the back of the bar. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” played softly on the sound system. Sansa needed another drink.

“Right, so that’s what they say about you and your ex. But I have to say that, in person…” Margaery continued, guiding Sansa into the back corner booth. It was surprisingly warm back there, the seats upholstered in cracked pleather that was probably a thousand years old. Margaery slid in after Sansa so that they both sat facing the back wall of the bar. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day,” she finished, completely straight-faced.

Luckily Sansa remembered to shut her mouth before making any embarrassing noises—like the incredulous cackle that was working its way up in her throat.  _What the hell is going_ on _?_  It wasn’t just that a gorgeous woman was hitting on her as effortlessly as breathing. It was the attention, the affirmation… and the fact that it had been ages since anyone had told her she was worth anything. Things like this never happened to Sansa, and her head was pounding with the three White Russians she’d just polished off far too quickly. She decided to go with it.

“R…really?” she said, bringing her thumbnail up to her mouth and biting it coyly.

“Oh,  _yeah_ ,” Margaery said, leaning closer. Just then the bartender appeared at her elbow bearing two drinks and she shot him a smile; when she turned back with the drinks, she’d somehow, magically, managed to sling an arm around Sansa’s shoulders. “Here, baby, it’s on me. Try something a little more seasonal.”

Sansa cupped her hands around something that smelled like mulled wine. She sipped slowly, but couldn’t take her eyes off Margaery and Margaery seemed to realize it, too; she was gazing back at Sansa, blue eyes twinkling. “Speaking of seasonal… I hope it’s not too forward to say that all I want for Christmas is  _you_.”

Sansa was turning bright red. She wasn’t made for this kind of flirting.

“I must be a snowflake… because I’ve  _fallen_  for you,” the brunette girl purred.

This was pathetic. This wasn’t even risqué, and Sansa was going all melty inside. “You’ve got me hotter than hot cocoa,” she whispered, finally trying it out.

Margaery set her drink down and moved forward on the seat of the booth, trailing her fingers around the shell of Sansa’s ear. “Wetter, too?” she breathed.

Sansa actually had to cross her legs.  _What… the… fuck?!_  She was more turned on than she ever remembered being, and she’d met this girl fifteen minutes ago. Very slowly she turned her eyes to look at the other woman’s—Margaery’s. Margaery was staring at her very directly. She put one hand on the inside of Sansa’s knee, slowly moving it up Sansa’s thigh under Sansa’s cream-colored sweater dress. Sansa hardly dared to breathe—hardly dared to take her eyes off the other woman’s.

“An angel like you belongs on top of a tree,” Margaery said, her cherry-glossed lips hardly moving. Suddenly those lips were all that Sansa could see, and without thinking, she moved forward to close the few inches between them with a kiss. Sansa could taste the cinnamon from Margaery’s drink, the sticky sweetness of her lip gloss, the way Margaery’s lips had parted with surprise and her tongue darted forward.

Margaery exhaled with naughty,  _naughty_  delight and then her hand had made its way all the way up Sansa’s thigh and she was stroking Sansa through layers of cable-knit tights and panties. Sansa gasped—or would have if Margaery wasn’t kissing her so hard that it was like she wanted to drink Sansa up. She twisted under Margaery’s fingers, both wanting to move her hips away from and into them.

Sansa didn’t do this. This was not the kind of girl she was. Yet somehow here she was, kissing a total stranger in a nearly empty bar on Christmas Eve, getting fingered under her skirt.

She broke away with a gasp, staring wide-eyed at Margaery. She was blushing hard, but it was hard to think through her arousal. Without thinking she reached out and put one hand at the curve of Margaery’s waist, and Margaery smiled at her, eyes alight. “Santa brought me lots of toys for Christmas,” she said in a half-whisper, and then paused for emphasis. “They just need… batteries. Do you want to come home and try them out with me?”

Sansa closed her eyes. “I guess Santa Claus won’t be the only one coming tonight,” she managed, and was rewarded by Margaery’s delighted, throaty laugh. Sansa thought she’d never heard anything so sexy. 

“You want to get out of here?” Margaery said at last, wrapping one hand around Sansa’s, and Sansa nodded breathlessly. “Good, because you can stuff my stocking  _all_  night long.”

 


	2. Sansa/Margaery: Snuggling In Front Of The Fireplace With Hot Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: "sitting/snuggling in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa/tea"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [hot chocolate recipe](http://cafedelites.com/2014/11/08/nutella-hot-chocolate/) that inspired this. YUM, right?

 

One of the benefits of staying at Winterfell for the holidays—apart from the minor inconveniences of never getting a moment’s peace in a house brimming with Starks and trying to have  _really_  quiet sex in Sansa’s childhood bedroom—was the real live, wood-burning fireplace. Margaery was as charmed by this quaint little detail as if she’d seen an actual reindeer. Apparently Christmas in Highgarden, where it never snowed, was quite a different affair than in Winterfell, which had once been named the snowiest destination in King’s Landing. It was also a prime spot for ski vacations, but seeing as Margaery had never even had a snowball fight before, Sansa figured baby steps were the way to go. One romantic winter activity with her girlfriend at a time.

The rest of the family had gone out to the movies on Christmas Day, but Sansa had begged off with the fake excuse of a stomachache and the very real need for some private time. Naturally, Margaery had to stay behind to “nurse” her girlfriend back to health.

But en route to the bedroom Margaery had stopped by the fire, a childish look of delight in her eyes, one that was really rare for Margaery, and who was Sansa to deny her girlfriend the simple pleasure of chestnuts roasting on an open fire?

“Not that we really have any chestnuts,” she explained to Margaery, who didn’t look particularly disappointed. Instead she was stabbing at the banked fire with the poker with the enthusiasm of a six-year-old, smiling to herself as the fire hissed and popped. They’d gathered all the blankets and pillows from the sofas around the den in order to cuddle up by the fire, and Sansa had easily given up the promise of sex for cuddling instead. That was what cold weather was for, after all.

Suddenly Margaery turned to Sansa, her eyes alight in the way that meant she was getting ready to surprise Sansa—and more likely than not, spoil Sansa rotten. “Wait a sec. I have an idea.” She got to her knees, but not before Sansa managed to cling to her elbow.

“Nooo… where are you going?” Sansa whined shamelessly. So what if it was the first time she’d been able to actually put her hands on her girlfriend without being hyperaware that they were putting on a PDA show for her entire family? She wasn’t Margaery’s first girlfriend, but Margaery was  _hers_ , and as sweet and accepting as Sansa’s family was about everything, sometimes Sansa felt like she was on display just for being different.

Margaery shook her head, smirking, and got to her feet. “No, just wait. It’s okay if I use some things in the kitchen, right?”

“Of course, yeah, but—” Sansa got to her knees.

“Just relax, babe!” Margaery called over her shoulder as she disappeared through the kitchen’s swinging door. “I’ll be right back!”

Twenty minutes later Sansa was stretched out on the pillows in front of the fireplace, very cozy in her sweater and leggings and thick knit socks, but also growing crabbier and lonelier by the second. “Marg!” she called, sitting up and putting down her phone. “I’m coming in there if you don’t—”

Just then Margaery emerged from the kitchen bearing two steaming mugs on a tray and wearing a huge smile. Sansa’s jaw dropped slightly. “For you,” her girlfriend announced, slowly getting down on her knees to set the tray on the coffee table. The hot chocolate looked like something off a food blog, steaming with puffy marshmallows melting in the middle and thick rivulets of cocoa running down the outsides of the mugs. It looked incredible. 

“Baby, you didn’t have to—” Sansa stroked the side of Margaery’s face, feeling all soft and warm inside. She wrapped both arms around her girlfriend’s waist, pressing her nose into Margaery’s neck.

“I found a recipe online and really wanted to try it out.” Margaery was beaming as she turned to look at Sansa. “They’re handmade vanilla marshmallows that I bought at Nordstrom, and it’s made with Nutella—”

“You brought all of this for me?” Sansa said in sweet, caressing disbelief, inching forward so that she was straddling her girlfriend, pressing Margaery back against the side of the couch.

Margaery closed her mouth and smiled, pushing her hips up to meet Sansa’s and sending a frisson of warm delicious heat right through Sansa. She looked fucking edible sitting there like that, Sansa thought, heart speeding up.  _I could just eat her up… or out_. Margaery was a carer, Sansa had found out: she showed her devotion by cooking dinner, showing up with the perfect movie on a rainy day, etc. (helping Sansa do her taxes, assembling furniture, the list went on).

“I was going to make it for everyone in your family,” Margaery said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, “to try and impress them—”

“Which you already did, don’t you  _worry_ —”

“But I figured this was the perfect time,” Sansa’s girlfriend finished, her eyes flashing naughtily. “And much more  _intimate_  and special.”

Sansa sat back, hips pressing hard into her girlfriend’s, staring at Margaery with a hot, smoky, meaningful look until Margaery started to squirm.

“Is it good? I’ve never made it before…” Margaery’s blue eyes were pinned on Sansa, and Sansa’s heart swelled with a wave of impossible fondness. Of course Margaery would go to all this work just for Sansa, just to create a sweet, special moment for the two of them.

Among Margaery’s many talents, she was a wonderful cook. Sansa lifted her cup and took a careful sip of the steaming hot cocoa, burning her tongue in the process, but made sure to swoon exaggeratedly at the vanilla taste of the melted marshmallows and rich hazelnut cocoa spread. “ _Mmm_ ,” she said, “it tastes amazing.” She leaned forward to kiss Margaery lightly, nipping at Margaery’s lower lip. “Just like you.”

Margaery’s cheeks flushed happily. “Oh, good.”

Sansa took a few more careful sips. “Don’t you want any, baby?” she whispered, setting down her mug and linking both hands behind Margaery’s neck.

“No,” Margaery told her, looking up with warm, soft eyes. “I’ve got all I need right here.”

She leaned up at the same time that Sansa leaned down, and when they kissed, it tasted like cocoa, warmth, and all the sweetness of happiness.

 

 


	3. Cersei/Margaery: Tyrell-Lannister Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: "Cersei/Marg snowball fight. Tyrells v Lannisters, and they somehow get separated from the rest of their teams."

 

Even Cersei couldn’t justify running around in six inches of snow in heels, but she had no trouble wearing the shearling boots she’d bought specially for this family trip knowing there was a high possibility she’d be forced to brave winter weather. In her designer boots and puffy white Moncler ski jacket, she knew she looked like someone not to be fucked with. When you were born beautiful, you had to use it to your advantage. Had Cersei been built like a female Marine she would have worked that angle, but high glamour could be just as intimidating. Which, of course, was always the goal.  

Unfortunately, looking as terrifying as only she knew how didn’t automatically translate to dexterity in the snow. Joffrey’s fiancée on the other hand, little Margaery Tyrell, had pranced out of their Aspen ski lodge in snow boots, jeans, and a puffy parka looking, it pained Cersei to admit, absolutely adorable. She was perfectly dressed for the idiotic family snowball fight Tywin and Olenna had insisted they have, Tyrells on one side, Lannisters on the other. Cersei never would’ve agreed to such a stupid idea: snowball fights were for children, not grown adults. But then Margaery had talked Joffrey into it in the spirit of the season, playing into his natural sense of male competition and latent Lannister bloodthirst—and here they were.

Fifteen minutes into open snowball warfare and Cersei had managed to avoid engaging with anyone, mostly by circling the lawn warily and keeping an eye on every corner. Myrcella and Tommen ran screaming by, hotly pursued by Margaery’s insufferable brother Loras. Even Cersei’s father seemed to be enjoying himself, reverting to some of his old military tactics and disappearing into the trees for better cover. Scowling, Cersei turned around to find higher ground and wait this stupid game out—and that was when a glob of snow hit her squarely in the face.

She was frozen stiff for a solid five seconds. Mostly with disbelief—disbelief that someone would actually dare to hit her with a snowball; even  _Joffrey_  knew better than to do that. But before she could react, more snow burst out of nowhere to hit her in the face, exploding into her vision, and that was when red rose up before Cersei’s eyes.  _What on—_

This time, Cersei’s reflexes were sharpened by rage. She wiped the sticky wet snow from her face and spun around to see Margaery standing ten feet away, face contorted in happy laughter under her fur-lined hood. “I got you!” the younger woman yelled gleefully.

_Oh, hell no. You’d better pray to God you didn’t mess up my foundation._

Cersei was freezing, wet, and mad enough to spit. “How dare you,” she hissed through her teeth. “How  _dare_  you?”

Margaery pressed her hand over her eyes, squinting in the morning sun. “Lighten up, Mom! It’s just a game!”

_Mom. She called me Mom_. Cersei tried to keep her calm, but with deliberate aggravation like that, it was impossible. “I’ve told you many times not to call me that,  _Margaery_.”

Margaery didn’t look apologetic or scared at all—in fact, she was grinning ear to ear. Instead of responding, she bent down with lightning speed, scooped another snowball, and threw it. This one splattered across the chest of Cersei’s jacket, and while it didn’t hurt anything but Cersei’s pride, it was far more dangerous than that. It was the final  _straw._

Cersei whipped off her gold-and-bronze wraparound Gucci sunglasses and glared. “All right, you’re asking for it! You want to fuck with me?” she screamed, completely losing her temper. She shoved her glasses into her jacket pocket. “Fine! Just try it! Just fucking TRY ME!”

Margaery’s eyes went wide with real fear as she saw Cersei barreling towards her like an angry bear that had been unleashed from its cage. She swerved, did a 180, and darted into the woods with a scream of exhilaration and delighted terror.

Cersei chased Margaery, who was much quicker on her feet and also, it had to be said, much younger, into the thickets of trees. Somewhere on the other side of this narrow patch of forest began the groomed, luxurious ski slopes of Aspen. She ran for what could’ve been one minute, maybe five—time and cold air whistling unnoticed past her ears—until she’d finally gained on her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

With dexterity born of a blind rage, she reached out and grabbed one of Margaery’s denim-clad legs and yanked. Her son’s fiancée hit the ground hard, face planting in the snow, down for the count. Gasping for breath, Cersei collapsed to her knees and grabbed one of Margaery’s shoulders, flipping her over so that the younger woman was pinned to the ground, face-up. Then she sat on Margaery’s legs for good measure.

“I win!” she crowed. Panting with the unbridled, physical joy she hadn’t felt since she’d roughhoused with Jaime as a child, she grabbed a fistful of snow and ground it into Margaery’s face. Margaery gasped and shrieked, kicking her legs out into the snow and writhing under Cersei’s body pin. But she was not, Cersei realized suddenly, trying very hard to get away.

“If you like to throw snow in people’s faces,” Cersei said, deliberately slowly, “then that’s a taste of your own medicine.” She sat back on her heels and savored the peaceful calm that flooded her, the kind that only came after dominating someone completely. Then she flicked another few drops of melted snow into Margaery’s face just to rub it in.

Margaery wriggled and twisted, and probably would have reached up to wipe her face if Cersei hadn’t been sitting on her arms. Instead she shook her face back and forth vigorously a few times, strands of her brown hair sticking to her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t really mind,” she said sleekly.

“You don’t, do you?” Cersei meant to be sarcastic, but there was something in the look in Margaery’s eyes as she shook her head, face wet and flushed with cold, that made Cersei think twice. Cersei paused, hesitating. Cersei wasn’t the kind of woman who hesitated, but she was now.

“What do you want, Margaery,” she said coolly.

The look Margaery gave her was like a snake before it swallows its prey whole. “Just… for you to wipe the snow off my face.”

Cersei crossed her arms. “Sorry.”

“And… I definitely  _don’t_  want you to kiss me,” Margaery added out of nowhere. She smirked, like it was a dare. But the look on her face showed that it was far more than that.

Later Cersei wouldn’t remember why she did it. Maybe it was the combination of adrenaline, surprise, and that fucking  _smirk_ —but this time Cersei didn’t hesitate. She leaned down and kissed her son’s fiancée hard, licking into the younger woman’s mouth, pressing hard. It felt like winning and losing at the same time. It felt like this was what she was supposed to do, and she didn’t know why it hadn’t happened before.

Margaery kissed Cersei back hotly like she’d been waiting for this, biting a little at Cersei’s lower lip and then licking over the same spots with her tongue. Her face was cold and wet with snow, and by contrast the inside of her mouth was burning up. It was like kissing a wild animal.

“Oh, my  _God_ , yes,” Margaery moaned, shifting her hips like an eel. Somehow Cersei’s legs had fallen to bracket Margaery’s own and they were moving against each other. After a few moments Cersei reached down to slip one hand up underneath Margaery’s coat and layers of cashmere sweater, grasping the curve of the younger woman’s waist so that she gasped at Cersei’s cold, wet touch. She wasn’t thinking. It was just pure physical sensation.

Just as Margaery’s hips were bucking up helplessly, grinding against the pressure Cersei’s upper thigh, her grandmother’s unmistakable clarion tones came ringing through the trees. “Margaery! Come on now, fight’s over. Let’s be civilized again. It’s time for lunch.”

Margaery cursed, sitting up hastily and tugging her jacket down to her waist. When she was done she looked up at Cersei and her eyes were dancing.

“If you really want me to make you come,” Cersei said without thinking, “come to my room tonight.”

Margaery jerked her head upright, but didn’t say anything. Then her face split into a smile—and she palmed Cersei squarely in the face with a handful of sticky snow. “Okay,” she said, and pushed Cersei off her lap. She darted away through the trees, leaving Cersei spluttering and furiously rubbing snow out of her eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she said under her breath, fishing around in her coat pocket for her sunglasses. But somehow she couldn’t get worked up enough to get angry.  _I guess I’ll take that as a yes._

 


	4. Cersei/Margaery: Christmas Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: "i'd love to see what you could do with cersei/margaery and spending christmas morning together OR the mistletoe"

 

Cersei woke up at 6:30 a.m. on Christmas morning, alone in the master bedroom that she’d had entirely to herself ever since Robert died.

Only today, she wasn’t alone. She turned her head to the right, cheek resting against the Egyptian cotton pillowcase, to see her son’s fiancée sleeping beside her, mouth pursed into a little heart. Confirming all of Cersei’s previously held suspicions, Margaery Tyrell even slept prettily. Normally Cersei would’ve found that annoying, but today… something warm rose up in her chest to see it. Which was strange, and unfamiliar, and Cersei didn’t like it.

Cersei’s instinct was to reach out and shake the girl roughly awake, but for some reason she didn’t. Call it the Christmas spirit. Instead she gently reached out to touch Margaery on the cheek, brushing her fingers lightly over Margaery’s face.

The younger woman’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked before focusing on Cersei lying next to her, and then her face creased into a little smile. “Good morning,” she said drowsily, like she was in some fucking Nicholas Sparks movie and not her fiancée’s mother’s bed on Christmas morning.

All right, enough of that. Cersei rolled onto her side and sat up against the quilted headboard to stare forbiddingly down at Margaery. “It’s 6:30,” she said, as crisply as she could while still tired. “You want to have another go-round? I think we have enough time for a few before everyone starts waking up.”

Margaery rolled onto her back to gaze at the ceiling, still half-smiling. “I think we did enough last night to last me  _several_  days,” she said after a moment, glancing coyly over at Cersei, and Cersei rolled her eyes.

Last night there had been a lot of drinking even by Lannister standards. Cersei’s father held his liquor like no one else, and last night everyone unwisely decided to try to catch up to him. That had amused Tywin; he’d even cracked a smile at one point. It was terrifyingly cheerful of him, truth be told, and that was about as festive as Cersei’s family ever got.

Then shortly before midnight Margaery had shown up in Cersei’s bedroom and locked the door behind her, and it wasn’t as if Cersei was going to say no.

“You should probably get out of here,” Cersei said now.

“Joffrey won’t be up for a couple of hours at least,” Margaery said lightly, like an afterthought. “I slipped him an Ambien or two along with his whiskey, so…”

Cersei stared at her for a moment. “Are you trying to tell me you planned this?” She was trying to sound disapproving, but couldn’t hide the fact that she was impressed.

“Of course I did.” Margaery sat up against the headboard, one strap of her red silk slip falling down on her shoulder. “Give me some credit here.

“Anyway, I’ve been watching you for a long time, Cersei, and I’ve been so good all year. I deserved a Christmas gift… and last night, I  _definitely_  got what I was hoping for.” Margaery sat back on her heels as if daring Cersei to deny it. When Cersei said nothing, she smirked and rolled out of bed. “I’ll be right back.” She shut the bathroom door behind her, and Cersei would be lying if she said she didn’t check out Margaery’s ass on the way.

When Margaery came out a few minutes later, she crawled onto the bed on all fours with a look on her face like she was enjoying herself. She wore a slip, scarlet trimmed with white lace, and as she turned to Cersei, it was easy to see right down the slip as it fell away from her body—everything from the triangular peaks of her breasts all the way down to her belly and the patch of brown pubic curls that Cersei remembered from last night. Cersei cleared her throat and made a point to look at Margaery’s face.

“So I don’t want to sleep with you again,” Margaery purred, coming closer. “Not today, at least. It’s not all about sex, you know.”

Cersei sat back against the headboard, letting out a slightly incredulous laugh. “Are you serious? Not just sex? You want me to make you breakfast while we’re at it?”

“Nah,” Margaery said easily, and before Cersei knew what was going on Margaery had straddled her, sitting across her thighs with hips pushed forward. “I just want a good morning kiss.”

Cersei stared up at her, frowning, but Margaery only smiled back, bringing her lips down to meet Cersei’s. She kissed Cersei softly, tasting of mint toothpaste, and Cersei had to admit it was kind of nice. So she kissed back, willingly, until Margaery’s mouth was no longer on hers.

“Merry Christmas,” Margaery whispered in Cersei’s ear, stroking the other side of her face with soft fingers. She tucked a strand of hair behind Cersei’s ear, moved to rest their foreheads together and stare deeply into Cersei’s eyes. Cersei stared back, willing herself to summon up the hot anger that usually coursed through her chest at the sight of the younger woman. It didn’t come… just a subsided, warm,  _fuzzy_  feeling. It was really fucking weird.

“Merry Christmas…  _Mom_ ,” Margaery added with a sly, evil hint of a smile, before leaping off the bed and scooping her robe off the chair. Then she was out of the room with the door closed behind her before Cersei realized what had happened.

And the hot, angry feeling was back. Some things, Cersei realized with a scowl, never changed.  _Merry fucking Christmas to me._

 


End file.
